Proper 22, Year Two, Monday

[Hosea 14:1-9]

We've whipped ourselves like horses to a froth
and fallen broken far before the finish;
We've stumbled under burdens we have fashioned,
the iron bridles in which we place our faith,
and our necks-- We'd rather do than flourish--

Put down the dead weight of your wooden gods;
The U.S. shall not save us; We shall not say
"My God" to the work of our own hands;
We will not ride upon HumVees over the heads
of our enemies; Our efforts cannot save--

Take these words and give me better ones;
Take these hands and teach them to be still;
Take this guilt; Take this cry from my tongue;
Place on my lips this sweeter fruit: Your will,
My God, your will and only yours be done--